


You’re Poison In My Veins

by MysteryWriter36



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Car Accidents, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Past Rape/Non-con, Rape Recovery, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, implied attempted rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-18 22:00:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17589197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MysteryWriter36/pseuds/MysteryWriter36
Summary: House’s first conversation with Stacy in years, and the events that led up to it.





	You’re Poison In My Veins

**Author's Note:**

  * For [smallredboy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallredboy/gifts).



> Yet another trauma fic, and my first fic of the year! Wrote this for my boyfriend <3
> 
> I didn’t put the Rape/Non-Con archive warning because it doesn’t happen during the present events of the story. I personally only like to tick the archive warning boxes that apply to the present events of any fic I post, but I make sure to tag accordingly and provide warnings in the beginning notes!
> 
> If you find discussions of sexual assault to be triggering, please don’t read this. Your mental health is worth a lot more than any kudos or comment you could provide me <333
> 
> Title comes from the song “Sick” by Barcelona, which inspired this fic

He shouldn’t be walking down the hall to her room. He should be going to the lab and checking the test results. He should be ranting to Wilson. He should be yelling at his fellows and insulting them. He should be pestering Cuddy. He should be annoying clinic patients. He should be somewhere else— anywhere else.   
  
His legs feel heavy and weak, and his chest feels like it’s got something on top of it, weighing him down. His mouth is dry and his head is spinning. He hates the feelings she inspires in him. He hates her.    
  
Everything is too loud. All the voices sound like they’re screeching. The machines sound like they’re right next to his ear. It’s almost like a hangover with how much his head hurts and how hazy he feels. Somehow, above all the noise, he can hear blood rushing in his ears. He can hear his heartbeat. He takes deep breaths, one after another, and pushes open the door to her room. He steps in, just one foot, then another, and everything is suddenly quiet. The sound of blood rushing and his heart pumping is replaced by a faint ringing. He barely processes the constant beep of the heart monitor.   
  
He spends several seconds looking around the room, looking anywhere but the bed. And then he looks, first at the foot of the bed, slowly letting his eyes trail up. She’s awake, and she’s staring right at him, expression neutral. House can’t breathe.   
  
Slowly, a smile breaks out on her face. “Hello, Greg,” she says.   
  
He represses a shiver. Once upon a time, the smile would’ve eased his nerves. Her soft tone would’ve comforted him. But things weren’t like that anymore, and they never would be. Not after what she did.   
  
House takes another deep breath. She’s injured, she has broken bones, she can’t hurt him. He can do this. House slides the door shut and takes a few more steps into the room.    
  
“Hello, Stacy.”   
  
She hums. “So, how did you find out I was in here?”   


* * *

House takes a sip from his coffee. “So,” he says, “what do you have for me today? Whose liver is failing this time?”   
  
Cameron leans back in her chair. “No case. No weird illnesses or rashes or unexplained organ failure.”   
  
“Oh, come on,” he groans. “Mondays are already boring enough on their own. Give me something!”   
  
“We told you,” Chase replies. “We don’t have anything.”   
  
Foreman walks through the door, holding a blue file. “I think we’ve got a case,” he says.   
  
House smiles smugly at Chase and Cameron. “And this is why he’s the second in command.” House looks back to Foreman. “What have you got?”   
  
“Seventeen-year-old male with unexplained heavy nosebleeds,” Foreman answers. “Head CT came back clean, blood tests and blood pressure are normal, tox screen is clean, and his nose seems perfectly fine.”   
  
“He gets into fights and doesn’t tell his mommy. Next,” House says.   
  
“Kid says he doesn’t fight, and there are no signs of physical trauma,” Foreman replies, smiling and holding the file out to House, eyebrows raised.   
  
House frowns and snatches the file from Foreman, setting his coffee mug down so he can look through it. “Run a CBC,” he says. “And one of you check the home for environmental causes. Maybe he just needs a humidifier.”   
  
Before House’s team can respond, Cuddy rushes in. “House,” she says, looking a bit frantic. “Do you have a minute?”   
  
House tosses the file onto the table and walks to the door. “I usually take a little longer than that, but I can make a minute work,” he jokes.   
  
Cuddy frowns. “House, this is serious,” she replies, walking to his office.    
  
House follows her in, then shuts the door. “What’s this about? Another lawsuit?”   
  
“A car crash victim just got admitted,” Cuddy answers. “She has a broken arm, a broken leg, and head trauma.”   
  
“And?” House asks, confused and already bored. “There’s nothing to diagnose. She crashed her car, she got injured, end of story. Where do I fit into all of this?”   
  
Cuddy takes a deep breath. “The victim is your ex,” Cuddy says softly, holding out a file to House. “Stacy Warner.”   
  
House blinks. It takes him several seconds to process what Cuddy said. Stacy is here. In New Jersey. In Princeton. In the hospital. House suddenly can’t breathe.   
  
“House?” Cuddy asks, concerned. “Is something wrong?”   
  
House doesn’t answer. He walks out of the office and to the elevator, ignoring her as she yells after him.    


* * *

“A little birdie told me,” House replies, keeping his distance from the hospital bed. “How’s your stay been?”   
  
“Okay, I suppose,” Stacy replies, obviously put off by the small talk. “I never liked spending more than a few hours in a hospital, and now I’ve been here five days straight.” She tilts her head. “How have you been?”   
  
House clears his throat. “Fine. A lot’s happened since we split.”   
  
Split. That’s what happened. He didn’t flee from her and the abuse. They just split.   
  
“Oh, I can see that,” Stacy says. “Nice wedding ring.”   
  
House grips his cane tight. “Thanks,” he says through gritted teeth. He wishes Wilson were here.   
  
“How long?” she asks.   
  
“Five years this coming August,” House answers.    
  
“I thought you didn’t do long-term commitment. Least of all, marriage.”   
  
House shrugs. “A lot about me has changed in the last eight years.”   
  
Stacy hums again, an awful sound that makes House shiver in disgust. All the memories of her humming are tainted.   
  
“So who is she? Did you finally hit it off with Cuddy?”   
  
“He,” House corrects.   
  
Stacy raises an eyebrow, her expression obviously that of barely-contained disgust. “I thought you liked women. A lot more has changed than I thought.”   
  
“I do like women,” House replies. “I like men, too. Get your head out of your ass.” Despite Stacy’s condition, fear shoots through him, freezing the blood in his veins.    
  
Stacy rolls her eyes. “Who is he, then?”   
  
House fiddles with the ring on his finger. “James Wilson.”   
  
“And what does he think about you coming to visit an old flame?” Stacy asks teasingly. 

* * *

“House, what’s wrong?” Wilson asks when his husband bursts into his office for the tenth time that week to crash on his couch. “You’ve bee acting strange since Monday morning.”   
  
“Nothing’s wrong,” House lies. “I’m always like this on Thursday.”   
  
“House,” Wilson says sternly. “What’s going on?”   
  
House pauses and stares at the ground. He grips his cane tightly, then relaxes his hand, then grips it tight again. “Stacy is here.”   
  
Wilson is around his desk and at House’s side before either of them knows it. “Do you need to talk?”   
  
House looks up at Wilson, brows furrowed. “Why would I need to talk? There’s nothing to talk about.”   
  
House is being stubborn, as always, so Wilson changes the subject. “How’s your patient?”   
  
Some of the tension leaves House’s shoulders, and he takes a seat on Wilson’s couch. “He’s fine. We discharged him earlier this morning after we finished fixing him. Physically, at least; we can’t do anything about the daddy issues.”   
  
Wilson chuckles. “Remind you of anyone?”   
  
House flips him off.    
  
Wilson sits next to him, leaving a bit of space between them. “House,” he says softly.   
  
House rolls his eyes and looks away. “We were having a good moment,” he grumbles. “Don’t ruin it.”   
  
“You can’t bottle up your feelings when something is upsetting you, House.”   
  
“It’s worked this long hasn’t it?”   
  
Wilson sighs and leans back against the couch.    
  
House sighs and slumps against him. “I’m going to be fine.”   
  
Wilson’s worry eases a bit at that.   
  
“It’ll just be a quick visit,” House says.   
  
Wilson’s eyes shoot open. “What? You’re not going to go see her, are you?”   
  
“It’ll be like exposure therapy. I’ll be fine.”   
  
Wilson sits up straight, visibly upset again. “House, exposure therapy isn’t for trauma, it’s for phobias!”   
  
House groans. “God, Wilson, can’t you just give it a rest? It’s not a big deal!”   
  
And that’s a lie because what Stacy did was very much a big deal. It would always be a big deal, even if House healed from it. The memories would always be there, and so many things related to them and Stacy would always be tainted. And time to time, House might still flinch when he’s touched.    
  
But it’s not a big deal. It’s not a big deal. It’s been eight years, after all, it’s not a big deal.   
  
“House, she raped you.”   
  
House’s stomach lurches. Oh yeah, it’s definitely a big deal. He shudders and leans forward, burying his face in his hands.    
  
“I know,” he whispers. He leans against Wilson, trying to let him know he needs to be held right now.   
  
Wilson wraps his arms around House and kisses the top of his head. “I love you. I just want you to stay safe.”   
  
“I know,” he repeats. “But I have to ask her. I have to know why.”   
  
“Why she did that to you?” Wilson asks.   
  
“No. Why she was in Princeton,” House clarifies.   
  
“Do you think she came here to.....”   
  
House shivers and tucks himself further into Wilson’s side, trying to make himself as small as possible. Something so wildly unlike House that it scares Wilson.   
  
“.....That’s what I’m afraid of.”   
  
“When are you going to see her?”   
  
House is silent for a long while, to the point Wilson is sure he won’t get an answer out of him. The moment he makes peace with that, House opens his mouth.   
  
“Tomorrow.”   


* * *

House feels sick to his stomach. _Old_ _flame_. She says it as if they didn’t end like they did. House almost throws up.   
  
“He wasn’t too thrilled,” House replies. It’s not far from the truth.   
  
Stacy looks uninterested and then changes the subject completely. “Let’s skip the rest of the chatting and get down to it.”   
  
House blinks. “Down to what?” he asks, getting more nervous by the second.   
  
“Down to us, of course,” she says. “Or me, I suppose. You never visit patients unless you have questions. So what are your questions for me?”   
  
House taps his cane against the floor a couple times and pretends to think. He’s really just trying to gather up the energy to say it all.   
  
“What were you doing? In New Jersey, I mean.”   
  
Stacy grins as if that was the question she was hoping for. “I was on my way to Princeton. You have to be in Jersey to get there.”   
  
House swallows. “What were you doing in Princeton. When you crashed, where were you heading?”   
  
“I was on my way to a hotel,” she answers. “I was going to bed down for a night or two while I was getting ready.”   
  
“Ready for what?” House’s voice is barely audible now, and his anxiety is screaming at him.   
  
“Ready to come see you. It’s been eight years, sweetheart. I missed you.” She bites her lip. “And you were always my favorite.”   
  
House feels bile rising in his throat. It’s almost as if he’s having another one of his nightmares, where Stacy catches him alone somehow and the horror repeats itself. He feels tears well up in his eyes.   
  
“Go to Hell,” he manages to say before rushing out of the room. His leg hurts like hell, but he can’t bring himself to care right now. He gets to the elevator as quickly as he can, and then to Wilson’s office from there.    
  
“You can say I told you so,” he chokes out once he’s in Wilson’s office, wiping his eyes with his sleeve and limping over to the couch.   
  
Wilson locks the door before moving to sit next to House. “I’m not going to do that,” he whispers. “Can I hold you?”   
  
Instead of answering, House buries his face in Wilson’s neck and wraps his arms around him tightly, shaking like a leaf.   
  
Wilson hugs him back, rubbing circles in his back and whispering every comforting thing he can think to say. He can feel the collar of his shirt dampening.   
  
When House stops crying, Wilson says, “I’m going to schedule an appointment with Dr. Nolan.”   
  
“Okay.”   
  
“And I’m taking you home early today.”   
  
“Okay.” A long pause, and then, “Thank you. I love you.”   
  
Wilson kisses his forehead. “Nothing to thank me for, love. I’m ready to go when you are.” After a few more minutes, they finally leave hand in hand.    
  
The tension and fear in House seem to ease after a second lock is put on the door, but he still asks Wilson if they can stay in a hotel for a week or two once Stacy is discharged. He still takes the day off work when Stacy is released from the hospital, still hires a private investigator to make sure she’s left Jersey before he goes back home, or into town in general, and still sticks to Wilson like glue for at least a week after the investigator gives him the all-clear.   
  
Wilson doesn’t say a thing about it, except to encourage House to do whatever makes him feel safest. He holds House every night, holds his hand everywhere they go, and it makes House feel safe. It makes him feel happy, too.    
  
No matter what happens, good or bad, there’s no place House would rather be than with his husband. He knows that Wilson will never let Stacy hurt him, he can feel it. It’s the best feeling in the world.   


**Author's Note:**

> Please leave kudos and comments if you enjoyed this! You can also find me on my tumblr @jacqueswrites


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